


I Hate The Ending Myself, But It Started With An Alright Scene

by Silverfern500



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Author is fed up with characters, Caffeine needed, Gas Masks, M/M, Post Snap but AU, Post-Apocalypse, Sarcasm, Spideypool Bingo 2019, Unconventional meet-cute, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 21:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfern500/pseuds/Silverfern500
Summary: It's the apocalypse, can't Spider-man just retire in peace?!





	I Hate The Ending Myself, But It Started With An Alright Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to my adventures in writing out my bingo card! This time: Gas Masks. Yeah. Idk either.  
> Quick note - this is NOT MCU Peter. This is young adult Peter (comics or Garfield or video games, you decide)

Cool...io. _Coolio_. Cool, yo. _Coolio, yo_.... Peter stumbled through his pitch-dark kitchen, after checking on a thump he'd thought he'd heard. _Oh god, am I losing my mind?_ He thought worriedly. That was fine, mind's were quick to go, after the snap.... After the air quality became near toxic. Like constantly breathing in funny gas. “Ha!” Peter laughed, right before a sudden sharp pain to his right big toe left him hopping and swearing.

And then that knock, again. Tap. Tappety-tap-tap. Tap tap. No, that wasn't a hallucination. It was... a bird. A bird flying into his window. Sure. Peter couldn't tell, because his balcony door's curtains were closed. Stapled together and nailed to the wall on either side, actually. So it was best to believe it was just some crazed bird. _Best to leave it alone_.

Those outside had mutations way nastier than that of his spider bite. They didn't feel pain, were vicious and insane. Like those vampires from Daybreak? Which Peter had watched once as a teenager. It had given him nightmares. His aunt had said 'I-told-you-so', and he remembered how he'd lied, saying his nightmares were instead of how Ben had died. It was a low blow. But, y'know, embarrassment as a teenager is a secret to be covered up, any means necessary.

The point was, Peter was going to go back to his bedroom, deadbolt the door, and go back to sleep. He wasn't going to check on whatever was 'rapping, rapping at his chamber door'. He wasn't.

The noise continued. Along with it, a sad scratching sound. _Talons_ , Peter rationalized. But after a beat, there was something barely audible. A normal human wouldn't be able to catch it, but Peter wasn't normal. It sounded like a dejected sigh. A human sigh. Peter stilled. He was at his bedroom door. He could just go to bed. He could just- he groaned.

Peter stomped over to his hallway closet, and the knocks began again. More tentatively, almost. Almost... disheartened. Doing his best to ignore it, Peter grabbed the first thing he could off one of the hangers. One of many gas-masks. He hadn't had to wear one since his last bulk grocery run, months prior. That wasn't to say Peter hadn't been _out_ in months, because contrary to his friends' accusations, Peter was not a shut-in. He'd been down the underground tunnels to see an old movie or get coffee. He just didn't like being out there, in the open air. Not anymore.

There was nothing Spider-man could do to save the city.

But maybe Peter could save this stranger outside his balcony window.

Knowing what he was potentially exposing himself to, did not stop Peter from gasping as he ripped one curtain back. Literally, the fabric ripped. He nearly tripped, too, but then. Then he stood, facing the stranger.

Outside, moonlight lit up the smog-filled air. Peter could make out buildings, shadows moving on the streets below. But his attention was drawn to the face of the man outside. The man who had one hand raised to knock again, the man who stilled as if caught in headlights when he saw Peter, before he started his knocking again, more frantically. His mouth moving but no words coming out, Peter knew, because if the stranger had made any noise, he would have heard it. Still, the man's lips said “help me” over and over again.

Peter drew in a deep breath of filtered air, and then he opened the door.

Moments went quickly, and yet in a slow-motion haze. The door squeaked as it rolled open. The stranger leapt inside, Peter slammed the door shut. The curtains came-to next, leaving his living room in darkness once again. The stranger's heavy breathing filled the silence. Peter waited, heart hammering.

“I..” the stranger croaked. “THANK YOU! Ohmigod, you are a saint. Are you Saint Maria? Christ. Do you know how bad it is out there?”

Peter stuttered, trying to keep up with the man's rant. “I'm- I'm Peter?” he managed, weakly. His voice muffled.

The stranger, though Peter could barely see it (and only because of enhanced eyesight) floundered, arms flapping before he rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck me! I forgot to introduce myself. Pool, Dead. 's nice to meet you kid, god. Damn. Do you know how much I owe you right now?!”

Lost for words still, Peter just numbly nodded, forgetting that Deadpool couldn't see him. He knew Deadpool. Deadpool was on the news before the snap. Before... everything. It certainly explained how the merc hadn't gone braindead (more than usual) or died. Whole unkillable... thing. But that didn't explain why he was on Peter's doorstep. “It's um, bad out there?” he hedged, when he realized he hadn't responded. He could hear his apartment's air purification system click on.

“Boy is it!” Deadpool crowed. “You got anything to eat? Sawdust? I could eat _sawdust_ right now, I'm so hungry. Or a shower? Shower buddy? I can pay you- I.” Deadpool paused, turning out his pockets, “Shit. Money's no good anymore, is it. I can also do dishes?” he whined.

Peter flapped his jaw. Shutting it firmly after a couple attempts, he grabbed one of Deadpool's arms gently and pulled him towards his bathroom. “Sure,” he whispered. _Why not_? It's not like the mercenary was any more deadly than anything outside. Who cared if a deadly assassin used his shower? Luckily, Deadpool went with him without any objections, and disappeared into the bathroom when Peter shut the door.

Peter couldn't get the image of Deadpool's face out of his mind. Pock marked. Scars. Sunken. But bone structure-wise? Handsome. Was that what the apocalypse did to him? Made him so desperate, he was turned on by _Deadpool_? Fine. Fine-finety-fine. _Fine_. Who cared. Not Peter. Nuh-uh. He was just going to go to sleep, wake up, and all of the night would turn out to have been a dream. So haphazardly throwing his gas mask back into the closet, slamming the door (which bounced back open), Peter stumbled into his bedroom and did just that.

* * *

All of that night was _not_ a dream, Peter found. Waking up with a heavy arm across his waist. Spit soaking the collar of his sleep-T. As he turned to see a very asleep Deadpool lying heavily across him, Peter balked. Okay, he should have known the merc wouldn't just crash on the couch. _Should he have known, though_? Deadpool was many things, but taking advantage of anyone or betraying people who helped him, was not his M.O.

It wasn't until Deadpool whimpered in his sleep and pulled Peter tighter to him, that Peter put it together. Deadpool had slipped into his bed because he desperately needed to not be alone. In a lonely way, Peter got that. He couldn't say that waking up to someone (even _Deadpool_ ) wasn't kind of a nice surprise. Couldn't say, but would say otherwise. _Under pain of perjury_.

When Peter sighed in defeat and relaxed from shock, Deadpool must have sensed it because he was suddenly upright with a gun trained between Peter's eyes. “Dude.” Peter whispered. “Not before I've had what passes for _coffee_ these days.” and he nonchalantly rolled his eyes, of which Deadpool had the perfect view.

Guiltily, the man put his gun away. Where? Peter had no idea. He didn't want to know. He was curious – yes, no, fuck – but he didn't _want to know_. So Peter just rolled over, grunted, and got up to throw on clothes for the day. Glaring back at Deadpool until the man left so he could change, in the bleary morning light coming in through the blinds. And wasn't _that_ a feat. Getting Deadpool to do the bidding of a stranger without complaint. Actually, it was odd how quiet Deadpool was being. But Peter could contemplate that later. _Coffee_....

It was safe to say that Peter was a little bit grumpy in the mornings. And decidedly not used to having company. He was drowsy, he was irritated, he kind of wanted to cry. He was intent on going to the kitchen, locating Deadpool, getting his story, and then kicking the man out so he could spend the rest of his morning in peace....

But Peter only got as far as the hallway before he almost smacked into Deadpool's back. The man was standing completely rigid, staring at something ahead. Peter rolled his eyes. “C'mon man, why are you blocking the hallway like a snorlax- ah.” Peter's joke died a second before Deadpool whirled around. Forewarned by a small spike in his spidey sense.

“What is this?” Deadool stated coldly. His voice a hollow, deep tone which sent a shiver down Peter's spine.

Peter gulped. Looking at the dusty red and blue fabric held in the merc's gloved hands. “It's-” he cleared his suddenly dry throat. That suit had haunted him for years. Reminding him that he'd failed. _There was nothing he could have done!_ He told himself again as his eyes flicked from the suit, to Deadpool's hardened mask ( _when had he put that on?_ ), and back.

Peter's silence seemed to be the wrong reaction, as Deadpool answered for him. “This is Spider-man's suit. -” though Peter could explain, really! - “What did you do to him?”

“I- what?” Peter managed, thrown off. He'd expected something like, Deadpool making him. Or some fan-level obsessive gushing. He didn't know.

Deadpool did seem to know, however. What he knew was that Spider-man had been missing since the snap. What he _knew_ was that Spider-man would never abandon his city. And most importantly, he know knew there was a stranger living with Spider-man's things. Added up, none of it looked good for Peter. “What. Did You. Do. To. Spider-man.” Deadpool reiterated pointedly, his aura growing more and more menacing.

Peter balked, his thoughts a litany of _tell the truth tell the truth tell the truth_. He took a steadying breath. “Spider-man gave me his apartment and went underground!” Peter lied. Well, it wasn't a _complete_ lie.

“Bullshit!” Deadpool growled, advancing on Peter until the brunet was up against a wall (literally, Peter's heels and the arches of his feet were sticking to the baseboard).

Peter waved his hands, which he held up in what he hoped was a placating manner. “Honest!” he spluttered, smelling the toxic outside fumes on Deadpool's suit. Rot and sewage and. “I was his photographer before all this.” he rushed on, trying not to gag. Trying to suppress his sigh of relief when Deadpool hesitated in contemplation, and then took a step back.

Deadpool still couldn't believe that Spider-man would go underground. But he didn't feel particularly muderer-y towards Peter either. They'd bonded! They'd cuddled! Confused, Wade tilted his head and re-appraised the shaking young man in front of him. “Why...” he started, and fuck if he didn't sound like a wounded puppy even to himself, “Why would he disappear?” Wade knew he was whining. Whining like a small child who had just been told their goldfish had run away. Spidey was much better than a goldfish though. For one, he didn't need to live underwater. Which was good because Wade didn't think he could play off the part of Elisa.

Maybe Peter could have thought his response through a little more. Maybe he didn't need to relax, cross his arms, and reply without thinking. “Because Spider-man's a coward” he'd said. Maybe Peter was a dumb-ass.

A dumb-ass who was then pinned to the ground, with an elbow shoved up against his trachea. “Take that back!” Deadpool screamed. Like a toddler, frustrated over a game of 'I'm not touching you'. Peter should have been more concerned, _really_. He just... wasn't anymore. He knew. He knew Deadpool's little fan-boy lonely secret. And he was happier for it. Sure, Deadpool had vocalized his crush on Spider-man countless times. Proved himself over a hundred. Maybe it was always gonna take an apocalypse for Peter to figure out that everything was genuine and that maybe, just maybe, he liked Deadpool back.

So, instead of feeling scared anymore, Peter just lay there, letting Deadpool lay on top of him, ranting and crying and venomously protesting in Spider- _Peter_ 's honor. Peter wasn't upset to be a coward either, really, like the 9th doctor said, “coward, any day.” but the blind faith was... really making him want to cry.

“-would never. Spider-man protects his people. Even if he's underground, I bet he's protecting _the_ underground. He's the kindest, smartest, funniest guy I ever met and-”

So, with a fond smile and tears in his eyes - _still fucking pinned to the floor –_ Peter finally stopped for a moment and just.. looked at Deadpool. Really looked at him. And said, “I am.”

“-that time he put duckie bandaids on my boo-boos- wait. You are what?” Deadpool came to a verbal skid-stop. Finally looking back down, at this confusing pretty boy beneath him. _Ooohhh-_ came a voice, stomped down with a _don't you start_.

Let's say that maaaaybe Peter had been disingenuous to himself. He _was_ a shut in. And he _Did Not_ go outside. But he was still protecting his people. He settled small disputes in the tunnel communities. He stopped thieves and fed those who couldn't find food themselves. It just never seemed like enough. Feeling small, he answered the tower of a man over him, trying not to focus on the way they were pressed together. “I do protect the underground.” he promised. It came out as a confession, a sworn fealty. Quiet, yet weighted.

Too afraid to hope, after years lost in a wasteland without anyone familiar, Deadpool inhaled through his nose. Eyes darting, searching Peter's for any sign of falsehood. “....Spidey?” he finally whispered, withdrawing his arm from Peter's neck (not that he'd been applying any pressure for minutes), and bracing himself with hands on either side of the cutie's head.

Smirking, Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Now if you'll excuse me-” he gestured for Deadpool to get off (no not _that_ way), “I generally like to have my _coffee_ before I get _pinned down_ by unexpected HOUSEGUESTS, DEADPOOL-”

**Author's Note:**

> MCR - Disenchanted is the work title. For no discernible reason.  
> A/N UPDATE: I -may- continue this at a later time, for those who have asked. But it's not in the cards for now. I'm sorry.
> 
> Again, pry italics from my... oh this shtick is getting old.


End file.
